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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25587160">The Dragon Reborn: Second Chances</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raz0rleaf/pseuds/Raz0rleaf'>Raz0rleaf</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Yu-Gi-Oh! - All Media Types, Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime &amp; Manga)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Eventual sexy times, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Lemon, M/M, Post Battle City, Reincarnation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:34:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,304</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25587160</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raz0rleaf/pseuds/Raz0rleaf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Post battle city. Blue eyes white dragon was the most powerful card in all of duel monsters, according to some sources. She was not one to be defeated easily, and her reincarnation would retain that drive and fight, and perhaps catch the eye of a certain CEO. But could love fix all inner demons? (Not a demure Kisara interpretation.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kaiba Seto/Kisara, Mutou Yuugi/Yami Yuugi, possible other mentions of side romances</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. One Step at a Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Explicit for language, adult themes and eventual smut.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She wasn't special, really, at least in her opinion. She was tall for her age, lean with fair hair and eyes. But when she looked in the mirror, she never saw why her mother told her how special she was. All she saw was herself, what she had always been, and what she would always be: a freak. Her pallid skin was so light she had to wear sunscreen even in winter, moisturize twice everyday, and had long given up on finding a foundation that would match her skin tone. It wasn't an issue of her skin being too olive or too pink, rather it seemed the undertone was almost blue - just like her eyes, almost too blue. Her adoptive mother told her that they were a clear sky, a perfect day, like the rain held in the clouds before it fell. But to her, they seemed like painted buttons on a doll from some scary movie, more artificial than endearing. And her hair, her security blanket, her way to hide from on-looking, eyes was near as pale as her skin, with the same odd blue tinge. It was white on good days, and shimmered periwinkle in sunlight.
</p>
<p>The doctors said it wasn't albinism, it was just an extremely uncommon genetic mutation probably carried down from her birth parents. They didn't have a name for it, and had never seen anything like it before. "A unique specimen," they called her, and she would never forget or forgive that. Strangers avoided her the older she grew. She had few friends, and fewer family. Her mother had adopted her as a baby, with no father figure, and no siblings, only an estranged aunt who only came to see them on holidays. It was rather hard for an already odd-looking outcast to find someone to give her the attention she craved, when those who should were either non-existent or not involved in her life. Her own parents had given her up, after all.</p>
<p>Kids would laugh at her on the playground. Ever since she could remember, they would call her names and single her out for her appearance, despite her best efforts at befriending them. It didn't matter how many times she changed schools, it was the same everywhere, at all ages in one way or another. The laughing and name-calling may have stopped, but the discriminatory whispers and note passing ensued. The odd looks in the locker room, the way everyone avoided her glance. By now she was used to it, being the white-blue spark in the sea of normality that surrounded her.</p>
<p>She had two options, and only two options: get tough or give up. Her mother told her that no matter how people treated her to keep her head up. To keep her dignity and her pride and never retaliate. The mean drawings stuffed into her locker, the biohazard stickers slapped all over her gym bag, the graffiti on her mailbox. She learned to steel herself to it, to ignore and move on. Her skin hardened into marble, and she became a goddess above all of the nonsense. She became stone and sapphire, unable to be touched by the words and actions of those around her. Her attitude shift inside began to affect her exterior behaviors; no longer did she blush when people stared, she eyed them right back, daring them to say something. She was sharp as obsidian and hard as alabaster. She was an Alantian princess sunk deep into the sea, an alien explorer left on earth. She was Clark Kent, the last unicorn: Amalthea; she was Rei Ayanami, pilot of an Evangelion. Books and movies were her friends, dreams were her lovers, she needed no one. She feared no one, no one would could or would touch her as long as she kept up the walls she built around herself. Her words became venom and a raging storm brewed in her eyes threatening white lightning to strike at her supposed enemies. She was a goddess, a warrior, a queen, and nothing less. But she was also a 17 year old girl.</p>
<p>When her mother died, one month before she was to start school at Domino High, Kisara, faltered. She stared at herself, naked as her name day in the mirror, criticizing every scar, each bruise, all the veins that stood out against translucent skin. Her ribs were too visible, her muscles too lean, her eyes too big with dark blue bags under them from lack of sleep. She wished they were puffy, she wished that they were red, but no matter what the tears wouldn't come. She felt hollow, empty, lost, and more alone than ever. </p>
<p>Mom couldn't really be gone, she deluded herself sometimes while drifting off to sleep. It just wasn't possible; she was the strongest woman that Kisara knew. She had raised her, a problematic child in more than one way all but alone. Mom juggled two jobs when Kisara was really young, and when her career took off and she was able to start her own business, she worked everyday at least eight hours into her mid sixties. There just wasn't a way that someone like her, someone as strong as mom could die. Minami Hayashi was a self-made woman, unstoppable, invincible. She was the one who had been Kisara's rock, her shoulder to cry on and her constant supporter. She whispered the soothing words into her ears when she had nightmares, held her hand while she taught her to cross the street safely, always reminding her not to look at her feet, to keep her head up. Keep your head up.</p>
<p>She was her mom, and moms' don't just die. They didn't leave their children. They don't abandon those who needed them still. It wasn't fair, it wasn't OK, it wasn't right. So anger filled the void of loss, and anger would not allow her tears as she stood staring in the mirror at herself.</p>
<p>Anger was an old friend, her default after years of learning to deal with the bullying. She became her heroines and heroes to avoid slipping deeper into depression, and when she couldn't be her own hero, it was her paperbacks or laptop that comforted her. Learning was intoxicatingly easy for her, and soothing, something to think of other than her miserable blue existence. That's what led her to creating, and what drew her at Domino High. They called her a prodigy, a visionary, or some other elaborate adjective that was more flattery than fact. It would have been easy for her to correct them on their usage of the words, but instead she smiled and accepted. The school wasn't too far, and their digital media production department was unrivaled in the east.<br/>
She wanted nothing more than to get into the field of game design, computer programs and 3D modeling made sense to her and comforted her creative side more than simply sketching. The tactile process of sculpting digitally soothed her unconscious longing for touch. She dreamed of working for a virtual reality company so she could escape into her creations. If she could get through school and build herself up, then she could hide behind the walls in her office for the rest of her career. In her hopeful future, she would have underlings to run errands and could possibly work from home eventually. She would be rich, famous and utterly above the ever-present bullying. No one bullied rich people, and when she had enough money she could live without the rest of the world.</p>
<p>But first she had to climb the metaphorical and real stairs, one by one. And each one was harder than the next, as trite as that sounded in her mind. High school, real high school, started today. Not cram school, or testing out of classes like she was used to, but real actual seven-thirty am to two-thirty pm five days a week with required courses and obscene uniforms high school. She shuddered at the thought, finally shaking herself out of her thoughts. She pulled on her undergarments before putting the aforementioned tragedy of an outfit on.</p>
<p>Minami, her adoptive mother, had been a fashion designer, which might have had an effect on her adopted daughter's love of design, or it could have been a mere coincidence.What was for sure is that despite her odd coloring, Kisara was always well dressed. And pink was not her color. The azure blue pleated skirt was too short for her liking but the bow-tie seemed to be the most offensive object, adding a clown-like element to the pink jacket as she clipped it under her collar. A clip on bowtie, she smiled faintly, imagining her mother laughing at it. At least she could pick her own shoes, though it was hardly a saving grace for nothing could offset the bright white knee-high socks. Glaring at her reflection in the mirror and trying not to focus on how the pink made her skin seem to glow with unearthly light, she chose some simple silver earrings and began to brush out her hair, sighing and mentally preparing herself for the day.</p>
<p>Grabbing her bag and keys, she glanced down before heading out the door to catch the subway at this unholy hour of six in the morning, and caught sight of her mother's necklace out of the corner of her eye. She hesitantly ran a finger along the curved silver filigree dragon, wrapped around a shining blue stone. It rested where mom had left it, on the credenza near the door where they would unload mail and purses, and kick off shoes beneath. Her mom had had the necklace ever since before Kisara could remember. Whenever asked about it, mom simply responded it was a reminder of her daughter. Sure it could be said her temper was draconic, but an alien or ghost would have been more appropriate to how Kisara viewed herself. Kisara smiled weakly, pulling herself back to reality and out of her early morning day dreaming and closed the door to the flat that now belonged to her, making sure to replace the necklace and lock the doors. The walk to the elevator was quick, and she almost didn't feel the tears running down her face until the wind of the outside city struck her, chilling them instantly.</p>
<p>One step at a time, just like mother. Her knuckle wiped roughly at fragile skin under her eyelids as she forced the tears away, not wanting her eye makeup to run.</p>
<p>One step at a time</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Same as Ever</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello again,<br/>Thanks for bearing with any typos, i'm my own beta. These first few chapters are going to move a little slowly to set up my version of Kisara's personality and mental state. This is a tough girl, almost too tough if you will, who's more willing to scare off potential friends than get hurt again. She is very mad at the world and traumatized from loosing her mother, and poor thing needs some therapy. </p><p>More notes at end. Thanks! - Raz0rs</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It took her longer than she thought to find her homeroom on the first day of school, and after running up and down hallways she finally found it; room 404 on the fourth floor all the way in the back hallway. It had to be the crowds earlier that had blocked her view. At 5'8” she generally didn't have a problem finding places, as long as they were listed in places where you could see. Not on damnable waist high placards next to heavy wooden doors that made horrible loud creaks when you attempted to stealthily push them open. Cringing, she walked in to find the room crowded and loud, no one even glancing up to see her sneaking in late, perfect. There was no teacher in sight; regardless of the fact class was to start within 15 minutes. Awkwardly shuffling her bag to her side, she pushed pale blue-white strands behind one ear, quickly scanning the room and its inhabitants to find a suitable seat.</p><p>There was a group of girls in their flattering fuchsia talking and giggling among each other near the front left, their subject matter lost to Kisara in the noise. Another group of guys and one girl crowded around a Duel Monsters game between a tall blonde teen and a shorter kid with some of the weirdest hair she'd ever seen; spiky blonde bangs with black purple-pink tips covering the rest of his head and spiking out at dramatic angles. Punk, she guessed, wasn't dead at Domino High. They held down the central rows, and the right were filled with more guys chatting idly, and smaller groups of what she assumed to be cliques of friends.</p><p>She eyed the back row and licked her lips, making quiet and quick footsteps towards her safe haven; no gum in your hair or pokes from a pencil in the back row. The walls were her allies in a three hundred and sixty degree battle of self protection. Only one person sat in the very back row, and he hid behind a mop of brown hair and a laptop screen, his fingers ticking away at keys. “Good,” she thought to herself, inhaling through her nose and taking quick purposeful strides to land her at the corner desk, one wall to her back and another to her right, in the last row, naturally. Perfect as it could get.</p><p>She slipped into the seat and slid her bag down by her feet, crossing long legs and then pulling at the hem of her skirt in disgust, trying in vain to make it longer. <i>“Mind your face”.</i> Her mother's voice whispered, as Kisara had a terrible habit of wearing her emotions like accessories. Dropping the frown she pulled out her notebook from her bag and her cell from her jacket pocket and began to prepare for the rest of the day. Her mind was still slightly buzzing, the adrenaline pumping through her system from her frantic flight to find the room. Perhaps that's why she didn't notice the teacher walk in, or the stares from the giggle-girls. Or the quiet muttering of the game-geeks (who was she to label them geeks? She loved games just as much). She scolded herself inwardly for being judgmental, one of her worse traits she had developed from what life had laid in her lap.</p><p>Tapping lightly on her phone screen, she input her class schedule, noting the room numbers by each class. With that done she breathed a sigh of relief and pulled out her trusty sketchbook. She jotted down ideas and roughs for new monsters to model in 3d later, and though she knew soon she'd be working mainly from reference she still liked to practice with her own creations. It was her favorite hobby, and she needed to build up her portfolio - she did have an interview on Saturday as a modeler for a new monster creation and development for Duel Monsters platforms, at the Kaiba Corporation, naturally. Their online ad seemed to have some interesting technology she'd like to get a closer look at, and though she wasn't as familiar with Duel Monsters as some other fandoms it seemed to be blowing up lately. If she could land it, perhaps it would be a step on her ladder to success. </p><p>A loud "Class!" caught her attention and she looked up from her sketching. Everyone had settled peacefully into their seats with their full attention on the man standing in front of his desk. His name placard said E. Hong and he seemed to be midway through thirty. Gently laying down her pencil, she crossed arms across her chest in her usual standoff manner, ready for battle. "Welcome to another exciting year at Domino High and congratulations on making it to junior year, especially you Wheeler," Mr. Hong said and the class laughed in unison at the blonde boy who had been facing off against the punk kid in duel monsters.</p><p>"Heeeey!" was all he retorted with, smiling easily to mirror all his surrounding friends.</p><p>"Calm down Wheeler, it wasn't just you who passed with the skin of your teeth." He leaned on his desk and grabbed a stack of papers, handing them to the giggle girl nearest the front to pass along to the rest of the class. "I'm pleased to announce that despite your best effort we are still ranked among one of the highest scoring schools and our reputation for excellence is unmarred. Here is an updated list with a few more classes the school has added for those looking to expand their horizons in different ways. If you wish to choose any of these, inform your councilor immediately and we will switch you if possible…." Kisara suddenly felt her mouth dry up. She was two seats behind the nearest other student, and the only other person in her row was at the exact opposite ten seats away, fingers still flickering over keys in a zen-like state. Someone was going to hand her the paper, someone was going to pay attention to her. The stack grew nearer and she felt her hands clench into a fists under her arms in preparation. Her anxiety spiked as she realized there was no way out of being noticed. It was going to happen, like it did every year, the stares would start, the whispers.</p><p>"…..I'd like to welcome our new transfer student," Mr. Hong's voice drifted back into her consciousness and her head flicked up to the professor. <i>No, no, no</i>. The teachers should know not to point her out, she had transferred to three different schools in elementary and everyone just let her slide like she was just another kid in another class. It said so in her record all the problems she had experienced—all the bullying and councilor's meetings. It specifically stated to draw as little attention as—<br/>
"Miss Kisara Hayashi who recently transferred here from Waseda. Hello Kisara." His lips curled into a smile and her pulse beat in her temple, her nails digging into her palms as every head in the room turned to look at her. She watched it like a virus, spreading from one face to another until it infected them all. Her face was controlled, her body still as absolute quiet lingered in the air. And lingered further, even the typing of her back row companion had stopped. Her eyes flicked to him, assuming another loner at least would be somewhat of an ally and saw he was staring at her with drawn together brows and a frown so intense it put hers to shame. Quickly she looked back to Mr. Hong, and opened her mouth trying to willing out words but finding none.</p><p>"..…Hello" she squeaked said finally, her voice coming out rusty and unpracticed. She couldn't remember the last conversation she had that wasn't between her and herself in her head. It had been at the funeral for her mother, but even then she had done more nodding than speaking that day.</p><p>A strained smile and breath of relief from Mr. Hong as he nodded to her and then began addressing the class again about testing scores and some other insights about their futures. Most of the looks turned back around, surprisingly faster than she had thought. The punk kid and the blonde kept glancing back, along with their other friends. One had spiked brown hair, another, the only girl, had a short brown bob with pretty blue eyes and a smile when she faced Kisara. Not a fake one like Mr. Hong, but a real smile. A snarl under her breath and a curled lip suspiciously and unconsciously at the girl. She wasn’t ready to make friends, now or ever. It hadn't worked before, and sooner than later Kisara would make her regret it.</p><p>The giggle girls were whispering to each other as soon as Professor Hong allowed them their private study time, or whatever homeroom was for. Her hair stood on end and she still knew someone was still watching, like her six sense, her curse granted her awareness of others eyeing her oddity; she could feel it. Her eyes shot around and she curled and uncurled her hands, fingernails digging red half moons into her palms.</p><p>Idle chatter returned, and she closed her eyes, focusing hard on the scratching of a pencil, turning of pages and the soft whispers of her new classmates as she tried to calm herself. Yet, there was no sound of the  now-familiar clicking of keys, her eyes shot up and she caught him, still staring at her from ten seats away. She waited for him to break his stare, her eyebrows lowered equally as far in challenge. Fighting her instinct to snarl at him with everything inside her, she tilted her chin up and stared into his cold cobalt ones with vigor. Inwardly she seethed and screamed and relived being provoked and pointed at when his eyes refused to break contact. With all the new fashions, with all the cosplayers, and the harajuku streetwalkers she really wasn't <i>that</i> different. The lie emboldened her and she spat a fiery "….What?" which came out like a hiss as it whispered through clenched teeth.</p><p>He blinked finally and seemed to realize himself. He said nothing but simply turned back to his computer and began typing again. A small part of her cheered internally, score one for the freak. But then the swell in her chest felt tighter more than relieving as she truly looked at him. He was taller than her with lean muscles obvious under his fitted blue jacket. It was buttoned to the top, opposed to almost every other boy in the class who had theirs in some sort of open or half buttoned fashion. His pants were pleated and the jacket looked pressed. His fingers were long and slender, frustratingly mesmerizing as they moved over the keys, never once hesitant or remorseful of a keystroke. Brown hair covered his brow in a stylish version of a modern clean cut and dripped to the nape of his neck. His tanned jaw twitched every once in a while as she examined his face. He was handsome; it hit her hard in the gut, strikingly handsome to her. His eyes were a dark counterpart to hers, including matching dark bags underlining them as if to mock her in similarity. She inhaled sharply as her womanly sensibilities and teenage hormones won her over, and her face flushed hot.</p><p>She tilted her head down and focused on her sketchbook, already angry with herself at her thoughts alone. Every boy she had ever liked ended in tragedy. Only speaking to her classmates when absolutely necessary was an absolute rule. She kept her protective walls up like her comforter at night, drawn over her head to protect her from outside intrusion. Her mental walls served as a barrier to keeping out people like imaginary monsters. Once she had confronted a boy, a nice boy with black hair and green eyes. An American exchange student, one time she had talked to him. And he had thought she was joking when she asked him to the dance.</p><p>Her fantasies died that same night as she cried unabashedly, her mother holding her until she needed to sleep before her shift. Hours after mom had left, Kisara lay shaking in her bed, skipping school. Tears no longer fell and anger quietly stepped into the void that sadness left. Anger would not betray her, anger fueled her, and anger kept out other feelings. Someone like her would never know another's touch, she would never find love, she would never have a <i>boyfriend</i>, a husband, a lover.<br/>
Kisara picked back up her pencil and continued staring at her sketches. She inhaled deeply through her nose and breathed out through her mouth, reminding herself that she could not quit this early. This was not optional, and not easy, but this was <i>mandatory</i>. This was step one on day one of the rest of her life, one day of school.</p><p>Her time here would be worth it if her feelings could be controlled, forced down deep into submission. She had P.E. in three more class periods. Perhaps she could run since it always helped to clear her head. Sometimes she felt like she could outrun the stares, or her feelings, or her negative thoughts. Inhaling again she focused and began to scribble once again, little dragons coming to life in her sketchpad. Her ears focused on his typing and she soothed herself knowing she had scared him off.<br/>
The bell rang after what seemed like eternity and she headed off to history, making sure to get out of the door last, so everyone was in front of her and she was back at advantage again, taking larger steps towards her next challenge.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading! Next chapter will be posted tomorrow, as I am reworking the first six before I start writing from scratch again!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter three. Small victories</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Stick around to the end for our first Kaiba POV. I reworked a lot of the original version of this to tone down Kisara's self hate. I originally wrote this story when i went through a terrible breakup and poured a little too my mental state into i think. Things will pick up pace soon here, and we are going to get some dream sequences. Stay tuned!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>      It never got old </em>, she thought sarcastically as she sat down for her fifth class of the day. Every first day of each class professors passed out syllabuses and told the class to read over them and then work quietly. The last two classes were exciting for her, however. The first was a design class based mainly in theory, which was honestly more review than new, and the second was her advanced digital media workshop, followed by a study period. A good way to finish off the day at least, if she survived until the end, she'd be able to do what she wanted and relax in a familiar digital territory, if different setting. Rewarding in a way, the small victories.</p><p>     The school had a fantastic computer lab, full of the newest mac pros available and custom pc's with high-end graphics cards and beautiful large monitors with full color displays. There were multiple drawing tablets, the expensive kind where you could draw directly on the screen, and when she logged into the desk she was assigned she gawked at the system's specs. Getting lost in reading through various documents on the power of the machine that was to be hers for 2 to 3 hours a day for the next two years she grinned, this lab put her macbook pro to shame. </p><p>     The door opened and she side-eyed the students who entered one by one. Two boys walked in and proceeded to the opposite of her, followed by a short redhead girl. The professor was next, flicking the lights down as he walked to his desk. This effectively rendered the next person in the door frame appropriately back-lit and ominous, toting his briefcase with a stride that seemed almost nonchalant about his very clear superiority to the rest of the already elite class. It took her a moment, as he sat down three computers in front of her, to recognize it was the typing boy from homeroom. Her eyes adjusted slowly, as sometimes she had problems with low-lighting, and she realized he had pulled out his laptop and had begun  typing away again with effortless mastery. </p><p>     The angle of the computers made it so his back was half turned to her and that was more than fine. Instinctively she curled herself further into the wall behind her, wondering about the odd layout of the room but grateful for her sense of security. Two rows of computers along the north and south walls, six on each with a small central pod of four computers with dual-screens suited to digital media artists. The redhead girl had claimed a central seat with a graphics tablet. The other two boys were in front of the pcs on the opposite wall from her. In front of the middle pod the professor's desk sat with a digital projection screen behind him, his own laptop pulled out and set up and connected cords quickly.</p><p>     Her current nook, even if mister I'm too important to adhere to social boundaries was three seats in front of her. Perhaps that was it, she glowered to herself; typing-boy was too good for the rest of the world to look away after the initial stares she frequently encountered. Most people would stare and then advert their eyes after 10 agonizingly long seconds or so, and then flicker their eyes back when she wasn't looking.</p><p>     Her thoughts were interrupted as the professor asked her politely to close the door. She rose quickly, pulling the door shut and slipping back into her seat in a now much-darker and cozier computer lab. "Thank you." The professor said and she nodded curtly in response, leaning back against the wall behind her and laying her head against the wall. </p><p>     "Hello, it's very nice to see you all here, and I can say I'm extremely happy to have you as my students." The typing boy paused and flipped down his now extra-bright screen, paying attention to the grey haired man with the same intense stare he had given her earlier in the day. She made a mental note and blushed, without realizing how much attention she was attaching to this stranger once again. She was thankful for the low lighting.</p><p>     "It is my honor this semester to be your professor and help you all towards your individual goals. This is more of an open forum and independent study than a traditional class structure. I know without a doubt all of you gifted individuals will make use of this new lab without needing much of my help. However, I would like you to outline what you intend to be doing with this class and keep a log or journal so I have some way to let the school know of your progress." He paused and smiled and the pc boys chuckled lightly. "If there is any way that I may be of assistance please let me know. You can call me Vincent or Mr. Norton if you want, either is fine." His accent clicked as she placed his name, English or American, she couldn't be sure. Pausing, he scanned the class, looking at each person with a smile, Kisara included without any lingering or visible signs her appearance unnerved him. She liked him immediately for his honest intent and discretion.</p><p>     "Now, as some of you who were here last year probably noticed our new render engines in the rear of the room; linked to each of your systems if you need to make use of them. Be sure to share their power and don’t hog them all yourselves." Another light chuckle, this time joined by the redhead. "Thank you again, Mr. Kaiba for your generous donation to our school." He bowed to the typing boy who nodded in dismissal, smirking as he did so.</p><p>     Kisara's stomach dropped out quickly and her hands went numb as she experienced an intense case of tunnel vision quickly followed by the nauseating reality of her situation. She barely spoke enough to have foot-in-mouth moments, but now she was having an "I want to kick myself for my stupidity moment." She had not only stared down the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company that specialized in exactly the type of work she wanted to do, but also probably offended him beyond a shadow of redemption with her arrogantly agitated attitude. Trying to sink deeply into the wall and willing magic to be real just so she could disappear in this moment, the professor's words were lost to her as she stared intensely at the back of Seto Kaiba's head.</p><p>     It was all her fault. She should have read the stupid magazines she and her mother labeled "trashy gossip" or "girly gunk." The ones with celebrities, make-up tips and ways to "get your man hot." Even her mother's design magazines would mention Kaiba Corp from time to time. Certainly she could have seen a photo of him, maybe she had without realizing it. Her mother's friend Vivian had gotten her the interview after all, why didn't Viv tell her that the legendary Kaiba went to Domino? Why didn't Kisara know that? Why the ever-living fuck was this happening?</p><p>_</p><p>     She nearly sobbed in her remorseful anger and frustration with herself, now simply peering with one eye through her fingers, full drawn into the wall, magic failing her. Why couldn't this freaking skin coloration grant her camouflage like a chameleon? She had an interview with his company on Saturday, five days from now. Four agonizingly long school days of awkwardness intensified to the extreme. Her insides raged against her rationale, her pride overwhelming her desire to follow her dreams.</p><p>     She would back out of the interview as soon as she got home, she could simply call the department lead who set up her interview and tell her she found something else. Then, later, she'd bury herself in books until she forgot her horrendous mistake. Maybe mom still had some of that brandy she liked in the liquor cabinet, surely she could Google how to pick a lock, it couldn't be that hard. She still had some of the sleeping pills from the doctor, maybe she could just sleep through the weekend and not—</p><p>     "You're shaking." His voice was like ice. Quiet and smooth to not interrupt his classmates but with a force that commanded attention and respect. She looked up to see him turned to her, leaned back in the rolling chair resting his head on two fingers of his right hand as if he owned the place, which she assumed he probably did in some way. One of his long legs crossed over the other, his ankle resting on a thin knee. She noted a black sock peeking between the material of his trousers and his shoe. Designer down to the last detail. His maids or servant team must pick out his daily fashions, probably including subtle additions to boast of wealth to his otherwise common, though well kept high school attire.</p><p>     Her legs were drawn up to her chest in a very unladylike fashion, chin resting on pink knees, eyes still hidden behind her fingers and betraying tears threatened to fall from her eyes. He was right, her hands were trembling. Slowly she dropped her legs down, one at a time and then lowered her hands into her lap, breathing deeply through her nose and refusing to break eye contact, attempting to absorb her welling tears. He posed an unplanned challenge, and she hated not being prepared. Her whole life had been preparation for any onslaught on bullies and those who would kidnap her on the street and sell her to the highest bidder. Her mom had even insisted on her taking basic karate when she was younger since she traveled alone for the most part and they traveled quite a lot. </p><p>     Her mind raced, trying to some kind of intelligent coherent response, she racked her brain for all the snippets she had read about him. Cold, merciless and calculating with an extreme intolerance for weakness, CEO of the largest Japanese virtual imaging company since he was barely out of his childhood. And, of course, what was she showing right now? Weakness. &lt;i&gt;Great.&lt;/i&gt;</p><p>     She sat up straighter and tilted her chin up, willing the pulse that beat rhythms in her brain to slow. Billionaire and genius, an enigma, an idol and a champion duelist, and also: a student of domino high. Still at a disadvantage, she knew she needed to speak, less he gained the upper ground. "I didn't have much appetite at lunch, my blood sugar might be low." The lie sounded way less believable as it tumbled from her tongue than it did in her head. Cursing inwardly she schooled her face into what she hoped was a polite smile. She had sought out the farthest table to chow down on the remainder of "I'm sorry for your loss" sympathy meals, frozen and reheated in the cafeteria.</p><p>     His smirk grew, followed by a small laugh. Was he more handsome stone-faced while glaring her down, or smirking and smiling at her abashed explanation? She couldn't tell as the accursed thought drifted through her head. She tried in vain to banish it into oblivion. It was his presence that awed her, relaxed as he watched her calmly. An alpha wolf amongst his pack, in complete control of his surroundings without even a hint of doubt of his undeniable all engrossing swagger. And she was an outsider in his territory. Her mouth felt dry and her hands threatened to betray her so she cleaned them into fists almost completely forgetting the others in the room, the redhead had headphones, the professor chatting with the pc guys.</p><p>     Breathing out she opened her mouth to say something else but he beat her too it, shifting in his chair. "I wanted to…" He broke off his stare as if the words he was searching for were alien to him. "Talk about earlier, about homeroom." Yes, definitely foreign to a man of his standing. He was more used to barking orders than &lt;I&gt;<em> talking&lt;/i&gt; </em> about things surely. She wasn't used to talking much more to another person besides paying at the grocery store or returning a library book. Polite discussion escaped her survival instincts, especially since her mother was gone.</p><p>     "Oh." She said simply, the surprise genuine in her voice. Even the little she knew about the CEO screamed he wouldn't be the type to bring up her misstep without an overbearing tone. Her insides slowly uncurled and she relaxed a tad, seeing that he willingly breached the awkward barrier with gentle words.</p><p>     "You … remind me of someone … I know." He spilled out finally with a finality. He studied her with the same intensity from earlier. But somehow it felt less intimidating and more sincere, as if his words held truth and not simply a cover for his coarseness. His eyes held honesty in their dark blue depths, and somehow it slowed Kisara's heart and uncurled her fists. He was not playing her for some cruel joke, or quizzing her on her heritage, he seemed true. Whether he would continue to be so or not she knew she would figure in time, but this odd offer of explanation seemed to sink in without further pressing. It was a weird feeling, a fluttering in her stomach. Fear and confusion and strange, intense sense of comfort with this powerful man churned in her stomach. She breathed in sharply, formulating a response.</p><p>     "I know I look a bit like an anime protagonist." A smile pulled at her lips as the bad joke tumbled from them. "And no, I don't try to look like this. I'm not really into the cosplay scene." The second at least, elicited a slight chuckle. It was the first time she realized that she had actually said something about her appearance to someone without anger or intensity in her voice. She didn't know if that thought scared her or intrigued her.</p><p>     Kisara couldn't break her gaze from him, and deep within her, some girlish devilish, disgusting hope was twisting her core instinct by opening to this man. She should stomp this out at the source and stick to the path that had kept her safe her whole life. No socializing, no letting others in; she was alone in this world and she needed no one. &lt;I&gt;No one but her mother&lt;/i&gt;, a tiny voice echoed from some uncertain nerve ending in her brain. Shutting it out she braced herself for his coming retort.</p><p>     But instead she was left with a simple smirking nod of acknowledgement and "Hmm." He swiveled his chair back to face his laptop and soon, the familiar ticking of his keys resumed. Dismissed, was the word that floated to the top of her mind. Dismissed but at least he had somewhat made an attempt at fixing the foray of formalities. Good enough, she guessed, and probably the best she was going to get.</p><p>     She slowly turned herself back to her desk and pulled her headphones out of her bag, pulling them over her ears and attempting to ignore the CEO's presence to her left. She opened up z brush, her favorite modeling software, and pulled out her notebook. After a moment she picked the dragon she doodled in homeroom to practice her hand at sculpting. After a few minutes she slowly relaxed into her work and stopped side-eyeing &lt;I&gt;the&lt;/i&gt; Seto Kaiba.</p><p>     Channeling herself into her music and sculpting, she created creature with relative ease, molding arms and legs, and torso, the wings, ridges of spines framing jaws and a sharp back. Once her task of creating the base form was done she leaned back and stretched, reviewing her work. She caught the reflection of his face on her screen, her slight shift in position allowing his face to reflect off the monitor. By the time she looked over he was already assisting his computer in whatever it demanded. It was back on the game engine coding software, and she couldn’t make out details. She wondered just how much he worked, a mystery filed away to wonder upon later. Meticulously she began ridges into the sides of the beast of her creation, refining each claw and fang. It wasn't until she saved her progress that she realized class was nearing an end.</p><p>     Quickly she packed up her things and was out the door as soon as the bell rang, forgetting to shut her computer down. She needed to catch the subway as soon as possible to get back to her place in Shinjuku. Leaving her headphones on, she let her long legs lead her quickly through the school crowds and out down into the town, past the courtyard and to the subway. Sooner than she realized she was flinging her door open, surrendering to the security of her flat. Kisara sighed in true relief and collapsed on the coach, the sheer effort of controlling her temper and stress levels all day finally catching up to her. She didn't remember drifting off.</p><hr/><p>As Kaiba rose to his feet after slipping his laptop into his backpack, he intentionally waited for the room to vacate to go peer at Kisara’s screen. The uneasiness he had at hearing her name, the amount of effort needed to calm his pounding heartbeat, and the strange way his mind kept drifting back to her had hit him hard, right in the center of his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He had experienced a thousand feelings at once when he truly looked at her in homeroom that morning. </p><p>And now, he strained to draw another breath, his eyes wide as he stared at her near-perfect model of a Blue Eyes White Dragon. It was a coincidence; he had seen a Lightning Dragon key-chain hanging off of her purse. It was simply that she liked Duel Monsters, and was playing around with her modeling. Or maybe she was doing it because she knew it was his favorite card, though her attitude toward him spoke of her unwillingness to do him, or anyone, any courtesies.</p><p>It surely wasn’t that the midget and his geek squad's babbling about ancient fairy-tales was actually beginning to affect him. He didn't believe in past lives or hocus-pocus, he had fought against its stupidity since the start. She may bear an uncanny existence to the Kisara from the past he saw in his visions during the battle city tournament and the same name, yet that didn't make it destiny. He was his own master of fate, his own man, not some pawn in some three-thousand year old mumbo-jumbo plan.</p><p>Snarling, he turned from the computer and quickly exited the school to his awaiting limo, the ever-faithful Roland inside astride his younger brother, Mokuba. Curtly he greeted them, and soon Kaiba allowed his brother's babbling about his new classmates to filter through his unfaithful thoughts and kindly place them somewhere deep in his subconscious. Kaiba Corporation came into view and the young CEO sighed, relaxing and grabbing his backpack with a change of clothes inside, swinging it over his shoulder and toting his loyal briefcase with the opposite side. Ready to let meetings, talk of game development and programming soothe his distracted mind. He would worry about the girl later, much later if he had it his way.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading! All feedback is welcome, especially if the computer jargon is off putting? I wrote this story originally when i was applying for my current 3d modeling job and i wanted to retain that aspect :). Just a lil easter egg. </p><p>Cheers,<br/>Raz0rs</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. I dream because I can meet you in dreams</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The nights were longer than he remembered, and the days drug on like a bad sunburn he wished he could peel off and be rid of. It had been like this since the end of his tournament as he returned to daily life. He felt anxious and on edge. School was a waste of time, a simple distraction from running his company which needed his full attention, he was well on his way to his own earned future. He pondered on this as Mokuba and Seto drove home from Kaiba corp, around 10 pm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mokuba was refreshed from his nap in Seto’s office and hadn't stopped chattering at him since they had gotten into the limo. The younger Kaiba insisted upon hearing all about his big brother’s first day. "They are the same every year Mokuba." was his simple response. His younger brother scowled at him with annoyance, dismissing the idea of prodding Seto for the time being. There was no way he was going to let Mokuba in on his thoughts. They had been racing the whole late afternoon and evening. No matter how much work he plowed through nothing seemed to topple the obelisk of his attention—Kisara. She was undeniably intriguing to him. Her blush had illuminated pale cheeks when he had addressed her; when she heard his name. He wrote it off simply as his fame, or her embarrassment, not that she was having the same </span>
  <em>
    <span>suspicions</span>
  </em>
  <span> as him. It would be ludicrous to think the latter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His attraction was as obvious as the tension growing in his groin as he folded his legs under his briefcase, hoping his brother wouldn’t see. He stared out the window and tried to think about what glitches he had found in the code he was working on all day to kill his urges. She was so beautiful, the same and yet different in subtle ways, and he refused to fully acknowledge this, allowing his mind to drift off into problem solving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>_</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight Big brother!” Mokuba called as he ran up the stairs. Seto rolled his neck on his shoulders and climbed the stairs after his brother. Mokluba’s feet stomped down the hall as he ran to his room at the far end of the south western corridor of Kaiba mansion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After retreating to his bedroom on the third floor, Seto took a long shower, trying to scrub his skin clean of the haunting vision of his supposed former self, holding a white haired blue-eyed girl's body. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Crying</span>
  </em>
  <span> over said girl, begging her to stay and love him as he loved her. Him, Seto Kaiba, crying over </span>
  <em>
    <span>a girl</span>
  </em>
  <span>, was a disgustingly insipid thought. Laughing out loud at the notion he stepped out of the shower and into clean pajamas. It was only happenstance that her appearance was nearly identical, and no matter the odd intensity of his magnetism to her it didn't have anything to do with destiny. The thought had only occurred because Yugi and his friendship brigade had forced it into his head for far too long with their farfetched fantasies of ancient Egypt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He toweled himself off and thought about his non-existent love life, only having dated two girls in the past. Quickly he had learned they were both after his money or fame and not his heart. He had humored the idea that perhaps he could find a queen for his growing kingdom, a mother figure for Mokuba, someone to spend time with, and that had been overly naive. He was 15 and 16 respectively, and though he knew he was young, he was also aware his own instincts were usually right. He was considered a genius after all, though surely not a relationship one. He needed to remain cold and hard like the steel skin of Blue Eyes, with ice in his heart as cold as the ice of his beloved dragon’s eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He set the alarm on his phone and readjusted himself amongst his bedding, slipping an arm underneath a pillow with a slight grunt. His body ached all over from tension he didn't realize he had carried. Even his trained briefcase hand, used to the weight of toting his belongings betrayed him, seemingly clutching too tightly during the day. His back was sore along his lower spine and his legs and knees felt tight and over-extended.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took an hour of tossing and turning to be comfortable, and it was well past midnight when sleep finally took him. He drifted off into a deep and hopefully void unconsciousness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But forces beyond his control would not let him off that easily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There she stood, as if waiting for him. The girl from Egypt, Kisara,  from all the weird visions he had had after the end of battle city. Her hair was a blinding shimmer of white against the reflection of the sun and sand, her eyes like crystals burning into him, whispering his name like a prayer. He reached out to her unsurely, but she grabbed his hand, raising him to his feet. There was an undeniable intensity to her presence, unlike his previous dreams where she had seemed blurry and distant. When her hand made contact it sent shivers of electricity up his arm. He stood and released her, coiling back from the shock of the intense reality of contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dusted off his knees, realizing he was wearing one of his modern outfits, black slacks and a shirt to match. Normally these dreams dressed him to match the time he intruded on, but not this one. It was different, he knew somehow that this dream was different. She was still staring, waiting, unwavering. "Hello Seto." Her voice was soft and strong at the same time, a cold rain that that wouldn't quit on a clear day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"K-Kisara?" He stuttered out unsurely, not trusting himself to his normal egocentric strut and instead allowing the small, but still present unsure honesty to speak in it's place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded in response. "Walk with me, will you?" She offered her hand again, and he took it, not letting go this time. They were outside of some temple walls, and their feet made no sound in the sand. Seto couldn't look away from her. She stood a head shorter than him and didn't flinch at his steadfast stare. A half smile curled her lips, pale pink against skin that nearly glowed in the streaming sunlight miraculously un-burnt. He realized she knew he was watching her, but instead of addressing it she let it pass without inquiry. Everything about her was calm and pristine, and her bare feet, so delicate slipped onto the stairs of the temple soundlessly as his shoes clicked against the stone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She led them both to stand in the central space, in between pillars of ancient granite painted brilliant greens, blues, reds and golds and carved with lotus blossoms and hieroglyphics beyond counting. There was a fountain in the center with a statue of a hippopotamus, water streaming from its nostrils and opened mouth, pooling on a dish on its back. Lilypads drifted in the surrounding water, small blossoms floating atop with their leafy counterparts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She released his hand and sat on the stairs next to the fountain, folding her legs under her with delicate grace. The rough spun shapeless linen tunic she wore could have been but a burlap sack, but her graceful form and delicate curves made it look like something out of Chanel's spring catalogue. Slowly he sat down besides her, his eyes taking in the sight around him. They appeared to be the only ones there; in this quiet dreamscape where soft sounds of wind and splashing water enveloped them. It was tranquil, quiet and peaceful. He breathed deeply and let his hands rest firmly on the granite steps, warm from sun and textured with a fine grain. He felt comfortable; everything here was soothing to his soul, including her company.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you truly forget this place?" She asked after a moment, hands folding together, only turning to him when his frown creased inobvious question. He could loose himself in the depths of her eyes, assured that the color did not exist in nature. He could pick out its hex code in one of his computer programs, he could liken it to some stone or flower but nothing did them justice. It wasn't just the color, but the intensity and depth that held him firm, not allowing him to look elsewhere. "We met here often before. It was a temple to your namesake once; to Set."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something about this place did seem safe to him. His senses betrayed him, allowing him to be the person he only was around Mokuba in that moment. Normally he was sometimes able to drop the persona of his ego, and let down the barriers and walls he drew around his emotions to protect the brothers Kaiba and their company. He was a teenage billionaire, a programming prodigy and inventor, a walking symbol of the power of youth with undeniable strength of mind and willpower after all. He owned his image, and he acted his ego. But sometimes, he was a seventeen-year-old throwing pillows at his brother, laughing at a stupid butt-joke and making microwave noodles at 1 in the morning. Sometimes meant only around Mokuba, not even Roland saw this side of him. Apparently this girl was an exception.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't remember." He managed, the words tumbling from him in a raspy whisper, as if sand had lodged in his throat. She smiled at him and his stomach churned with odd endorphin-driven sensations. The feeling reminded him of when he crushed his enemies in duels, or when he fixed a bad line while coding one of his newest programs. When had made a good business decision, finished a long project. But it was more than simple… happiness? He guessed at the unfamiliar word. Comfort?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's alright. You have been lost for a long while, and you've always been the stubborn type." She drew her legs to her chest and folded arms around them, peering at him through white bangs that blew about softly in the warm wind. "At least that seems to have carried over to your reincarnation." He couldn't help the narrowing of his eyebrows, to which she merely laughed at, a high-pitched sound that reminded him of wind chimes and small birds. "I know you don't believe in any of this." Her smile lingered as she stared at him, her pose a near mirror of the girl he had met in the computer lab, legs drawn into herself with arms crossed over. But this Kisara regarded him with ease and familiarity that spoke of a deep intimacy, not with the agitation and fear the current one had shown him in their brief encounters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She is very different than I was…. I guess you are different than my Set. But your hearts are the same. I would know your ka anywhere." She reached a hand out and brushed a strand of his hair behind his ear. When her fingers made contact with his skin he leaned into her hand, familiar and warm. Like the mother's hug he had long forgotten, or the lover's embrace he had never known. His mind rolled with questions, confusion, and doubt. He kept his eyes closed as her hand drew away, and the slightest movement of his head followed the loss of her touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything was so serene here, the sun, the sand. Even the wind that blew the smell of nectar and earthen baked granite sunk deep into his mind with sweet serenity. He opened his eyes to her, the fluttering feeling still intoxicating him in an haze, his lips parted to speak, to attempt to express what he was thinking, but she beat him to speaking. "Help her Seto. She needs it. Our ka is strong, the soul of the blue eyes, the light that she bears, it can be too much. Her ba and ka are not in the balance that I maintained; her soul is not as pure, her heart not as innocent." He swayed slightly; suddenly realizing her face was becoming blurry. "We don't get second chances often, and you deserve one. Don't let her go, don't let her run…." She all but whispered as the dream faded into to a dark blur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seto sat straight up in his bed with a sharp gasp, his lungs heaving and his eyes flying around his surroundings frantically searching for familiarity. His hands shook slightly as he grasp his duvet and attempted to slow his racing mind. It took longer than it should have for his breathing to regulate and his pulse to slow. It was 3:33 in the morning, exactly halfway through the witching hour. He remembered he had read once that it was the most magic time of day, the easiest to access spiritual energies. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bullshit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, his rational spat back, in direct objection to his sweat slicked forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Drawing a long breath, he laid back down, rolling on his side and staring at the clock. He pulled the duvet up to his ear even though he was still damp with sweat. Forcing his eyes shut, try as he might he couldn't block her out of his mind no matter what he attempted to focus on. Their mannerisms were similar, and their appearance all but the same. But their attitudes were as different as ice and fire. Maybe he was over-thinking it, he didn't even know the girl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had spat fire at him in homeroom, but to be fair he did stare at her, something she was probably overly aware of due to her elusive appearance. But when he had tried to smooth over his faux pas she had balked at him like a beaten dog. She was an interesting enigma and almost worthy of his attention, almost. But he was spending way to long lingering on a nightmare and a whisper. Yugi would probably he thrilled beyond reasoning if he ever dared admit his most recent line of thoughts; just more imaginary nonsense. He smirked, his breathing slowly at last when that thought passed through his mind, and finally again he found sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blissful black oblivion, free of intrusions into the blankness of his much-needed sleep.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>back to kisara's POV next chapter. Thanks for sticking with! R&amp;R appreciated!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Never been afraid of storms</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kisara couldn't remember how she had gotten to her feet, much less why she was waking up, covered in cold sweat and shaking. Her instincts had led her down the hall to mom's room, and she opened the door with her mind cloudy from the confusion and fear which lingers after nightmares. Twisting the doorknob she pulled the door open and blinked into the brightness, reality washing over her along with bright beams of moonlight. She sighed and wrapped her arms around herself, willing her shaking limbs to still as she looked about the room.</p><p>Mom wasn't there. The sheets were a mess from how she had left them, makeup piled on her vanity with a couple dresses gently laid on the back of it's delicate porcelain white colored chair, as if she would come back any minute to tidy up. Her grand four-post bed looked more massive than ever, the same shade as her dresser, simple and elegant in a French style Kisara was sure she could recall the name of which if her brain was fully awake. The cold silver moon illuminated the space hauntingly, giving it a hollow empty feeling. Even the floral lace drapes cast ghastly shadows onto the floor, threatening to crawl towards her as they fluttered in the breeze from the room’s ceiling fan.</p><p>Taking a step backwards, Kisara slowly shut the door to mom’s room and walked back to hers, closing her own door and sliding down the back of it and tucking herself into a ball with her knees pulled close to her chest, the back of her head nearly bumping as she leaned backwards, staring up at her blue ceiling painted with fluffy white clouds.</p><p>Slowly she remembered her dream as she stared at the sky her mother and her had painted onto her ceiling. Kisara had dreamt of sand, warm and white against her bare feet. Sand was her favorite part of visiting the beach with her mother during fashion week trips to Osaka, though the ocean intimidated her greatly. She squinted with closed eyes, the dream swirling in her subconscious and becoming more clear. Beyond the sand she remembered a temple, something Egyptian with tall stone pillars engraved with hieroglyphics. There was a large pool in the middle of the structure, featuring a fountain with water so calm and clear she could easily see her uninterrupted reflection.</p><p>Her eyes popped open as it hit her, subconsciously seeking out her mirror. The girl in the reflecting pool, it wasn't her, but it was somehow; her eyes were the same but her jaw was thinner, her muscles more toned. Her doppelgänger had skin less translucent-pale and thin, as if glowing internally among the rippling desert heat, her expression was serene and controlled. There was sureness to her movements as she had mimicked Kisara when she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, icy cold eyes meeting their mirror in the reflecting pool. She had opened her mouth to confront her mirror image, but nothing had come out, as if her voice had dried with the sand. And it was then she had heard it, her name, whispered like a prayer into her ear. Quickly, she turned to see who was addressing her—and had promptly been pulled out of her dream and back into reality by a booming crack of thunder.</p><p>Swallowing, she eyed her present-day reflection warily, making sure it did not betray her; holding up a hand slowly and flexing it, watching her own tendons move in the shadow of the mirror, lightning illuminating her room, dancing with the thunder that had awoken her in it's rhythmic song.</p><p>She had never been afraid of storms. Slowly as the coat of sweat on her brow was drying she pulled herself up, breaking eye contact with her mirror-self as she crawled back into bed. It was freezing, even though fall had just started to settle in, and she wasn't sure if it was the memory of the warmth of the sand or the storm that had caused her to draw her blankets up high over her head.</p><p>"<em>The thunder chases the lightning, and its tears are rain. For the thunder loves the lightning, but he can never catch her.</em>” She whispered to her pillow, unaware until she felt a tear slide down her face she had started to cry. Silently she sobbed, and turned over to her side, towards the wall and shoved her pillows and stuffed tiger into a long line, wrapping her arms and legs around them and slowly settling in. A poor substitute for a mother's calming hug in the middle of the night for a scared child, but a substitute no less.</p><p>It was her own fault for taking a nap, she thought irately, eyeing the clock that read 3:44 am from under the security of her blanket. She should have just stayed up, finished her homework and then gone to bed, to get herself used to her school schedule. But instead she had crashed as soon as she got through the door. It was that stupid smug look on his face as he had talked to her, almost laughing at her panic. There was no way she could get out of this up coming interview, and no way she would bow down to the almighty Seto Kaiba just because he was insanely gorgeous with perfect eyes and hair—no. No, no, no. Would not, could not, no. She would not fall for another boy who would just break her heart. Wouldn't get her expectations up just to be let down again and left alone. Mom wasn't there to hold her when she cried, or soothe her anger with calming shushes and gentle pats.</p><p>She would probably not even see the CEO; she'd just be another one of a thousand of employees. He wouldn't even notice her name on his payroll, he had brushed her off after what she had gauged was the closest thing she'd get to an apology out of someone like him. It would probably be the closest thing she got out to a conversation with him for the rest of her life.</p><p>After waking from her nap she had finished up the small amount of classwork she had and then dug into researching the young billionaire. He didn't smile in photos, his eyes were cold and hard, deep blue under creased brows. The only thing that betrayed humanity were the dark purple bags under his eyes. Even the photos that he allowed to be taken showed no emotion other than absolute control and calm, as if he pulled the strings to the entire system. And that intimidated the shit out of her. Yet, after a while she spotted a subtle a small evidence of kindness. He was also an orphan, he and his brother Mokuba, who was almost always at his side in all of the photos she had dug through. There was one of him, in an amazingly reprehensible purple trench coat, getting into his limo and keeping Mokuba behind him, allowing the younger to slide in while he eyed the cameraman with annoyed hostility. It was obvious he cared for his younger brother, a quality about him Kisara couldn't scoff at. For those abandoned by the people who gave them life, family was all but absolute importance in whatever form you could find it.</p><p>Kisara knew the loss of family all too well. She had screamed herself hoarse and beaten her knuckles bloody on the glass and wall between the operating room and herself as she watched her mother lose her battle to cancer. The nurses had drug her away but she had fought, growling like a wild animal and clawing onto the window like her arms were made of iron, refusing to leave, refusing to believe that they just gave up on mom. Curses, scalding hot words burned from her mouth with fiery passionate anger, the nurses almost understanding, the doctor's eyes almost filled with forgiving pity. But in the end, so typically, they had sedated her, laid her in a hospital bed and prescribed her anti-anxiety medicine and an intense sleeping pill to help her "through the pain."</p><p>Scoffing at the memory she curled arms around her stuffed tiger tighter. The sedative had kept her calm until she had gotten home way later the next morning after the worst night of her life in the hospital. It took a week to settle mom's affairs, and longer to keep child services from attempting to take her away. Her aunt had finally done something for her estranged sister and unrelated niece; backed Kisara's ability to take care of herself.</p><p>The flat was now hers, along with the small fortune her mother had left her, enough to keep the place and pay off the funeral bills. But money wouldn't last forever, and that's why she needed to get this job at Kaiba Corp. She needed to swallow her pride, fears, and inhibitions and just climb the first rung on the ladder, take the next step toward moving forward and keep going.</p><p>Lightning flashed across her window, and the thunder called closer, chasing his lover through the sky. Kisara inhaled deeply and tried to make herself relax, she had to be up in three hours. The thunder rumbled mournfully and she smiled slightly to herself. It was a story her mom had told her, of thunder and lightning. A tragic love story, but one her mom always used to instill courage and strength within her adopted daughter's heart.</p><p>
  <em>One day you'll catch the lightning, and she'll be more than you ever hoped for.</em>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, it has been busy for me lately. The thunder/lightning metaphor is probably one of my favorite things I’ve ever written. I am really in love with the idea, and well lightning just happens to tie in nicely with our beautiful blue eyes. Hope you guys enjoyed, please R&amp;R!<br/>-Raz0rs</p>
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